


In here, too.

by paperlesscrown



Series: behind closed doors: a bughead canon sex series [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 2.12, Extended moment, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Missing Scene, NSFW, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperlesscrown/pseuds/paperlesscrown
Summary: The Jones trailer was a document of their story - of their love, their wounds and their scars. Tonight, they were writing a new chapter.**WINNER: BEST CANON REWRITE ONESHOT - BUGHEAD FANFICTION AWARDS 2018**





	In here, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at smut for the very first time, inspired as I was by this incredible episode featuring my OTP. Thankful for every reader! Feedback would be most appreciated.

The Jones trailer was dotted with remnants of their history.

From where she sat, Betty had a clear view of everything. The spot in the living room where he first told her that he loved her. The kitchen counter where he had lifted her roughly, his mouth hot and searching on hers, overcome with passion. The door he creaked open to an ominous crowd of Serpents, who handed him his own jacket. The couch where they had fallen asleep the night they were investigating the Black Hood.

And where they sat now, silently watching TV.

 _What chapter of our history is_ this _supposed to be?_ Betty pondered the question as she glanced at him tentatively. They were seated away from each other, their bodies not even touching, yet painfully, the closest they’d been in weeks. Her shoes were off and his beanie was lying flat on the space next to him - small items of clothing discarded casually, as though they were learning to be exposed and unguarded around each other all over again.  

The last 24 hours had been a blur. By some twist of fate, they had fallen into the old rhythms of Betty and Jughead, Sleuthing Duo Extraordinaire, all over again. It felt familiar. It felt _right._

But there was something else there - something aching and tender that lingered beneath the dynamic energy that came from bouncing ideas off each other and pursuing leads. To Betty’s surprise, Jughead had broached the subject of their relationship and had been open and vulnerable, apologising to her and owning up to so much - his regret over their breakup, his misdemeanours with Toni, his brief time as a drug mule, and his mutilation of Penny Peabody.

He was laying it all out for her, exposing himself willingly after weeks of shutting himself away from her.

And she was overwhelmed.

 _What does this mean for us?_ She looked over to him, fought the urge to reach out and touch his face. _Is there still an ‘us’ to be salvaged from the wreck?_

Jughead turned the television off. “Good old Hiram Lodge,” he muttered. “I wonder what he’s planning for us. On the Southside.”

She contemplated the question silently. “Maybe we can ask Veronica on Monday.” _Oh god, Veronica._ Betty winced at the thought of her best friend being drawn into this mess. _How does she fit into all this?_ For the most part, she may have been reeling from the suddenness of being thrust back into Jughead’s sphere again, but still, she couldn’t help but wonder about what would become of them - Veronica, Archie, Jughead, herself. Even Josie and Cheryl. The children of Riverdale. The victims of their parents’ histories.

“Yeah.” Jughead sighed. “Maybe we should just investigate quietly, until we know more.”

Betty nodded, acquiescing.

“We haven’t saved the trailer park yet. And I’m on probation from the Serpents, whatever that means. Because of what I did to Penny.”

 _What I did to Penny._ The thought of it still unsettled her. He hadn’t gone into detail, but Betty knew him enough not to feel angry or incensed - instead, she could only feel unbearable sadness at the desperation he must have been driven to, to feel as though he had no other option than to do what he did.

“But we stopped her from coming back,” Jughead conceded. “ _And_ we got rid of Tall Boy.”

“ _We._ ” She couldn’t help it. Her face broke out into an involuntary smile. “It’s just nice to hear that again.” And it was. After the many lonely nights that followed their breakup, the dark days of the Black Hood, the emotional rollercoaster of finding her brother and being led into the sordid, clandestine world he inhabited, sitting here with Jughead felt… good. Stable.

He turned to her. “Look, I’ll be apologising for it for the rest of my life, but I’m sorry. I am.” Betty looked up at him, and saw that his eyes were filled with remorse. “For feeling like I needed to shield you from what I was going through with the Serpents, or... my darkness.” He scoffed at that last word, seeming to cringe at the cliche, but finding nothing better to describe the bleakness of his world without her.

“I can handle it.” _And I want to,_ she added silently.

“I know,” he responded, as if reading her thoughts. “I know you can.”

Betty exhaled. The weight of his words stirred something in her, and suddenly the door she had worked so hard to close since their breakup flew wide open, inviting her to walk through again. And though every part of her longed to do just that, she felt tentative and scared. There was still so much that she needed to tell him. So much that she feared to divulge.

She sighed, her yearning overcome by common sense. “I should probably…” she broke off. _You should stay. You should stay. You should stay._ “...start heading home.”

The fragile bubble of their moment deflated. But what else was she supposed to do? This had to be enough for her, for now - the simple hope that they weren’t done yet. She needed to leave on that note, because she wanted to fall asleep tonight with that hope tucked away into her heart.

“Or you could stay,” he said, in a half-whisper.

_Oh._

Betty stared straight ahead, alarmed by the sudden turn of events and afraid that if she so much as _breathed_ in his direction, she’d betray just how desperately she needed to hear him say that - a direct reversal of their ill-fated conversation in front of the Whyte Wyrm, when he told her to go home. This was anything but that. He was inviting her into _his_ home, into himself. No more pushing each other away.

_I guess it didn’t stick, after all._

She exhaled slowly, releasing a breath that had been constricting her chest. She still couldn’t bear to look at him, not now when every part of her - body, heart, mind and soul - was clicking into place as it pointed her to one inevitable conclusion.

“Stay,” he repeated.

His fingers grazed the edge of her dress, a wordless request for her consent. His eyes were fixed on her, all but begging. His mouth hung open, parted as it lingered on the remnants of that single word. _Stay._

Betty’s limbs were imbued with a will of their own, and though she was slowed by the headiness of the moment, she had never felt more sure of herself, or of what she was doing.

He wanted her. _Needed_ her.

And she was going to give it all to him.

…

Betty’s heart was clamorous in her chest as their lips met for the first time in what felt like an eternity. She felt curious rather than shocked at the sight of herself climbing up to straddle his lap and pin him against the couch. How did her body even know how to do such things? Then she remembered who she was kissing, remembered that his touch incinerated her unlike anything or anyone she had ever known, and she knew that the answer to that question was tied up entirely in _him._

_This is your doing, Jughead Jones. This is --_

A sharp, metallic sound interrupted her thoughts, and suddenly she was aware of goosebumps raising on the bare flesh on her back as it met the cold air. He had unzipped her dress, and his hands now frantically, _expertly_ grasped the hems, sliding them forward, away from her body.

If there had been any question about where this was going, they were swiftly answered in that one motion. She was now partially naked, her dress bunched around her waist, her silken lavender bra exposed. Hungrily, Jughead continued to kiss her, but his mouth now wandered downwards and away from her mouth, to her neck, her chest, the top of her breasts, leaving a trail of heat in its wake, every coherent thought undone. Underneath her, his desire was making itself evident as she felt his length harden against her, right where she was already growing wetter by the second. On instinct, her hips pressed forward, wanting this, wanting _him_ with a primal, possessive fierceness. He bucked up in response, and she felt a jolt of pure, white-hot pleasure shooting through her body.

“W-wait, wait, wait...” she managed to breathe out. He barely let up, his lips now making quick work of her collarbone. “I need to tell you something.”

If Jughead heard her, it would’ve been entirely accidental. He was completely focused on her, and she remembered now how he always had a thing for kissing her neck, for nipping his teeth at her pulse point in a way that always elicited a breathy moan (which she always had to bite back whenever they were making out on her bed, afraid of the thin walls and of Alice Cooper’s wrath). She knew that if she didn’t physically pull away, he wouldn’t have paid her any heed.

“What?” he panted. “What is it?”

She felt her body screaming at her, protesting now as Jughead’s lips left her skin. _Yes, Betty,_ it huffed at her. _What IS it?_

She looked down at him - his head slightly tilted, questioning, his eyes soft and vulnerable but darkened by lust, his face flushed by the heat from its contact with her skin. She had stopped them with the intention of telling him the truth - which truth, she could barely say herself. There were... a few, to put it mildly.

But they were immediately overwhelmed and overtaken by the one truth that mattered most in that moment.

That she loved him. That she never stopped. _Couldn’t_ stop.

And that this - this swirling storm of passion and lust that churned between them, even now as they were parted - was long overdue.

She decided to tell him _that_ truth.

“Nothing,” she whispered in response to his question. Her fingers grazed his bare chest, longing to undo his shirt. “I just… want you. I want _all_ of you. Tonight.”

All of him. Every last inch. Every shade of light and dark. Everything.

If Jughead was impassioned before, her words clearly switched on another gear. She watched him, with a faint sense of pride and smug pleasure, as his eyes grazed greedily over her breasts, evidently seconds away from ravishing them with his mouth.

 _No,_ she thought, as she gently tilted his chin up and pulled him in for a searing kiss. _Not yet._

Betty needed him in slow motion, at least for now. Needed to savour each second of this encounter. To store up every last frame of it in her memory.

Jughead instinctively picked up on the hint and circled his arms around her bare waist, leaning into the kiss, gentler than before. She sighed into his mouth, their tongues tangling together as they sought a softer intimacy.

How long they spent there, suspended in the leisurely heat of their kiss, Betty had no idea. But as she felt his fingers inching their way up again to the clasp of her bra, she quickly decided that she’d had enough of being the only one naked on the couch. She broke away from their kiss and swiftly pulled him up by his suspenders, which she promptly slid off his shoulders.

Betty saw surprise register on his face at the abrupt change in pace before leaning forward to kiss him again, this time with her hands busy at his shirt. Her fingers sought flesh, and was rewarded when Jughead reached down and unbuttoned the shirt himself. Mirroring his early movements, she gripped the hems and half-tore the garment off his body, freeing his skin so that it was hers to explore. This time, it was _her_ turn to gawk at him - the sinewy muscles of his frame, the slight shadows made by the ripples on his torso.

She had barely finished sweeping her eyes over the expanse of his skin when he pressed his mouth to her left shoulder, the lacy strap of her bra falling off as it gave way to his persistent need to taste her. Leaving a trail of hot breath in their wake, his lips caressed the downward slope of her right breast, and she tilted her head back, closing her eyes in ecstasy as she bit back a cry.

Jughead noticed that and pulled her closer to him, pressing his mouth against her ear. “You’re here with me, Betty, not in your room,” he murmured against her earlobe. “Let me hear you. Please.”

She was so caught up in the urgency of that whisper that she was stunned when her bra suddenly came loose, his clever fingers having worked the clasp, her breasts now freed and exposed to his hungry stare. As he bent down and took one peaked nipple into his mouth, the moans she had worked so hard to stop in her throat pierced the air of the empty trailer, fast and breathless.

“Yeah, Betts, that’s it,” he said, murmuring against her skin. She rocked on top of him, her pussy wet and in desperate need of friction. He was right there with her, thrusting his hardness up against her, and she thought - in between the ministrations of his mouth and the wandering of his hands - that if they kept this up any longer, she’d probably end up reeling over the edge of an orgasm before she even knew it.

Jughead broke away and looked up at her, their eyes level. “Turn around,” he said, his voice low but assertive, no trace of softness or vulnerability evident.

Betty arched an eyebrow at him as she stood up, discarding her dress on the couch, her body completely naked, save for her lacy lavender briefs.

“Wait,” he said, interrupting her as she began to turn. “Can you…? Just stand there for me.”

Betty obeyed him tentatively. They had done some fooling around prior to their break-up, but she had never been _this_ nude in front of him before. His eyebrows were knitted together, his brow furrowed as he looked her over. Betty grew nervous as his silence extended.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” he said, his voice ragged, reverent. “You’re just… you’re breathtaking, Betty.”

His words reduced her to a hot, wanton mess. He inched forward in his seat and drew her closer, planting a flutter of a kiss on her abdomen while his hands grazed the back of her thighs. He reached up to cup her ass, then hooked his fingers underneath the flimsy material of her underwear, dragging it down slowly over her lithe, shapely legs.

Her heart was hammering in her ribs as his hands gripped her hips and swivelled her around before pulling her naked form down onto his lap, with the two of them facing in the same direction. Immediately, Betty saw why he wanted her positioned this way: his hands reached around, firmly groping her full, pert breasts.

Jughead’s hands had wandered before, and she had actively encouraged him, but those incursions upon her body were nothing like this: forward, dominant and sure. Perhaps the darkening days of Riverdale were propelling this need: if tomorrow can’t be promised, if death and danger were right around the corner, then...

“ _Fuck,_ Betts.” He swore as she reached behind her to stroke his cock. Sitting up slightly, he pressed his mouth up against her jaw, whispering and groaning her name, loosening forth a stream of words incoherent, sweet and filthy all at once. In rare moments of lucidity, she watched her body in fascination as it squirmed and contorted in response to him, her legs spreading wide open, begging for him to touch her. When his fingers finally found her throbbing entrance, her back arched right off him, she let out an obscene moan, and he threw an arm around her to hold her down against his body.  

“Stay with me,” he commanded. Her breath was coming out in wild spurts now as he traced circles on her clit. It took all of her restraint not to bear down and have the whole thing over quickly. She was frantic for release, but she needed more than that tonight; she needed intimacy.

Jughead slipped a finger into her, slowly at first, gauging her reaction. “Keep going,” she pleaded, and with one slick movement he buried it in. Her cries were pure and primal as he pumped it in and out of her, his voice still raspy in her ear, his other hand working her breast as she writhed in ecstasy.

The tightness that was winding up in her abdomen was now building up to an eruption. Betty recognised the onslaught, and reached up to grab a firm hold of Jughead’s hair - not enough to pull, but certainly enough to be felt. “I’m… I’m nearly…”

“Let me feel it, Betts,” he muttered into her ear as he nipped on her earlobe and pressed down on her clit. “Every bit of it.”

She clamped her pelvis down into his hand, shamelessly fucking his finger. “Jug. I’m, _oh god_ , I--”

Explosions of white behind her eyes. Her mouth forming a silent, salacious scream. Every muscle taut with pleasure as she rode wave after wave. Then, just as she thought it had died down, the aftershocks of her orgasm shuddered through her body like small tremors.

It could’ve been seconds or hours later - she wasn’t sure. Time suddenly felt fluid, irrelevant. Her body lay limp in Jughead’s arms as he kissed her neck, which was now covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

“Jug… please. In me.” Her breath hitched and she was on the verge of incoherence as the last quivers of their encounter shook out of her.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder before looking around the living room. “Here? You don’t want to move to the bed?”

If he had asked her the same question on that night when he unceremoniously slammed her against the kitchen cabinets, she would have undoubtedly said yes. After all, his bed was the trailer’s closest approximation to how she’d pictured their first time in her mind: a small, quaint cottage in the middle of nowhere, a four-poster bed covered in damask curtains, roses on the sheets, candles on the floor.

But she had tended to his wounds on this couch. Fallen asleep in it while enveloped in his arms. Sat upon it with him through happiness and tension and peace and instability.

It was perfect.

“No,” she whispered, as she turned around. “I want this. I want you. Right here.”

Jughead didn’t need to be told twice, as he undid his belt and pushed down his trousers, his hard length springing forth. Betty straddled him again and immediately started kissing him, her wetness slick on his cock. In between kisses, he managed to ask her, “Are you still…? Do I need to…?”

“I’m on the pill, yeah,” she murmured.

He leaned back and looked at her. “If you want… I can still get a condom, Betty. It’s no big deal.”

“No, no,” she protested, before fixing her stare on him. “I said I wanted _all_ of you, Jug. I… I want to feel you, too.”

Jughead could only nod dumbly, much too overcome for speech. He wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a soft, sweet kiss. They locked eyes, and she nodded in assent. _Yes. Now._

Betty sat up off his lap and lowered herself gently, gingerly, onto him. She hissed through her teeth as she felt her walls expand suddenly upon his entrance, a sharp pang of pain shooting through her body. Jughead groaned as he was buried to the hilt, but kept his eyes on her. As she winced, he grabbed her hands, gently prying her fingers open before kissing her palms, right where her scars were.

Betty was suddenly less alert to the pain and more conscious of the significance of that gesture. How was it that the person who had shattered her world just moments earlier was now being so gentle, so tender? She looked down at him before tucking her hair behind her ear, and bending down to kiss his shoulder - the very same one that Toni had tattooed with the symbol of his loyalty to the South.

When she said she wanted _all_ of him, she meant it.

Every mistake. Every misdemeanour. Every dark and hidden corner.

Jughead began to thrust up into her, and though some remnant of pain lingered behind, she began to sense how this might feel good, how she might want to try it again, and soon. He leaned back on the couch, taking her forward with him, and the new angle sent sparks of pleasures through her. Slowly, they began to build a rhythm - thrust, grind, up, down.

She clenched down on him, experimenting with the sensation, wanting to see what he liked, what made him feel good. At times, he stopped their rhythm in order to press her down onto him, lapping up her tits, ravishing them again with his mouth. As he built up pressure, his speed increasing, she sensed it; he was nearing the brink, and he was ready for freefall.

She pushed up against him, grinding, bucking up her hips with wild abandon, the pain now a distant memory. He groaned his appreciation, all words lost in incoherent bliss, only sensation remaining. Tight. Wet. Euphoria. Faster, she rode him, every part of her thrumming and throbbing and present in the moment.

“Betts, I’m--”

“Yes, Jug,” She closed her eyes. “Yes.”

“I’m about to --”

His body tensed. Their voices mingled as they said each other’s names in tandem - her voice a whisper; his, a muted shout. Seconds of stunned silence followed as he wordlessly buried his head in her neck before breaking out into a deeper, more guttural groan. Betty held on to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as his warm release filled her. A final moan escaped his lips before he collapsed back into the couch.

A small laugh escaped her lips. 

_Holy._

_Shit._

_..._

Later on, after they were both cleaned up and somewhat dressed, they did end up on his bed, only because she was cold and the couch was too narrow for them to lie on. His arm was slung lazily over her bare stomach, their legs entangled, their silence a comfort.

“I need to go home soon,” she finally said, her tone regretful as she stared at all the missed calls on her phone.

Jughead drew her closer. “You’re home here.”

Betty smiled and turned so that she was facing him. “I know. I am.”

She kissed him before she sat up and got off the bed, the soreness in her legs a pleasant reminder of their encounter. He groaned as she stood up, loathe to part with her. As she slipped her dress back on, combing her fingers through her hair, he fixed his eyes on her, unrelenting.

“You feel okay?” he asked.

“I’ve never been better, Juggie.”

“Good,” he said. “Do you want a ride home or something?”

“No, I’ve got the car,” she replied, somewhat reluctantly, the temptation to feel him between her legs again sorely inviting. “Thank you, though.”

They both fell quiet.

Three unsaid words hung in the air between them. It had been a while since either of them had verbalised it. If she really thought about it, Betty supposed that it might be nice to hear themselves say it. Complete the circle, as it were.

But the night had made that redundant, at least for now. And there were many nights ahead of them. Many days in which they could let it be said, whether whispered against a pillow or uttered in conversation or screamed at the height of pleasure.

Betty looked around Jughead’s room. She thought of the trailer, how it framed and reflected their story, and what her presence in his room now said about the next sequence in their narrative.

The Underwood typewriter she had given him sat proudly on his desk. His small library of books was piled high on the floor. His Serpent jacket was draped over a chair. His bedsheets of dark plaid were soft and inviting.

All of a sudden, she knew the three words that she wanted to and could say, right here and right now. They came out of pure desire, but also out of the promise that the chapters of their history had not shuddered to a halt; that they were being written again.

“In here, too,” she half-whispered to herself.

Jughead smiled, not quite catching it. “What was that?”

“In here, too,” she repeated more clearly. “It’ll happen again, and it'll happen in here. You and me. We’ll make this ours.”

“‘Ours’,” he exhaled. “I like that.”

She stooped down to kiss him one more time. Quietly, she made it a vow. Imbued it with her love, her desire, her passion for him. Whispered into it the memory of tonight. Made it a wish for an infinite amount of tomorrows.

“Yeah,” she said, her laughter on his lips. “Ours.”


End file.
